Another Time, Another Place
by darkpartofmydestiny
Summary: Or "What If". A series of one shots taking events that happened in the show or books and changing them to a different outcome. Chapter One: The Mountain VS The Viper. Chapter Two: Jon Stark (now with additional content)
1. The Mountain vs the Viper

Tyrion blinked against the glaring sunlight as he was marched out to face his destiny. His gaolers had told him that crowds had gathered to watch the spectacle of the most terrifying man in Westeros take on a slight and exoctic fighter from Dorne. The Red Viper had to mean something, Tyrion prayed, as his life now rested in Oberyn Martell's hands. As he walked, he saw Oberyn with his paramour. Alarmed at the lack of protection Oberyn was wearing, Tyrion felt his stomach drop.

"Looks like very light armour." Tyrion said concernedly as he approached them. Oberyn didn't even look at him as he walked over to the table next to him.

"I like to move around." He called behind him.

"You could at least wear a helmet." Tyrion noted, turning to look at the spectators. He could make out his family sitting in prime seats, even young Tommen had come to see his Uncle's fate be decided. Of course he had, Tyiron reminded himself, he was the King now. Turning back towards his champion, Tyrion sighed to see Oberyn pick up a goblet and drink deeply.

"Should you be drinking before a fight?" _I am fucked._

"You learn this during your years in the fighting pits?" Oberyn mocked, and Ellaria gave a short laugh. The woman watched him over her shoulder, a smile playing at her lips, her eyes studying him in a way that made him feel uneasy. "I always drink before a fight." The Prince said lightly.

"It could get you killed. It could get _me_ killed." Tyrion felt more fear now than he had rotting in the dungeon - things seemed much more real here, and he wasn't sure having a snake as his champion was the best idea. Placing your life in the hands of a creature that doesn't have hands was never wise.

"Today is not the day I die." Oberyn said confidently and firmly, as Ellaria placed her hand on his chest. Tyrion rolled his eyes at the over-confidence on display, but felt something deeper. Seeing the love between the two of them reminded Tyrion of Shae, and the very memory hurt him more than any axe could. Well, almost as much.

The crowd behind him cheered, and Tyrion looked over to see the Mountain enter the arena. He was even taller than Tyrion remembered, and covered head to toe in heavy and seemingly impenetrable armour.

"You're going to fight that?" Ellaria Sand's voice cut into Tyrion's thoughts."

"I'm going to kill that." Replied Oberyn smoothly. Such a strong statement did nothing to calm Ellaria's neveres.

"He's the biggest man I've ever seen."

"Size does not matter when you are flat on your back." Oberyn's vendetta would consider even a giant an easy opponent, Tyrion suspected.

"Thank the Gods." Tyrion replied flatly, a flicker of his old humour returning to him. Not for long. The horn sounded, and that old letch Pycelle stood in the foreground, ready to begin the trial.

"In the sights of Gods and men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this..man, Tyrion Lannister. May the Mother grant him mercy, may the Father give him such justice as he deserves, may the Warrior guide the hand of our champion.." His words were interrupted by another blow of the horn; clearly someone wanted the old man to shut up so the battle could begin.

Oberyn embaraced his paramour, kissing her passionately as Tyrion looked on helplessly. Oberyn started to walk away, and Ellaria tugged him back to her.

"Do not leave me alone in the world." She begged him, her eyes locking with his.

"Never." He swore, and he left her for what Tyrion hoped would not be the last time. Catching his weapon of a heavy jagged spear, Oberyn spun it around to get familiar with the weight of it in his hands. From his spot on the sidelines, Tyrion saw the difference between the two champions, and he hoped that Oberyn was right about size making no difference when flat on your back. He watched Oberyn dance around the floor, spinning in a way that he had never seen before. The Dorenish style of fighting was much more elegant - Tyrion could only hope it would be as effective as it was beautiful. Oberyn stopped his spinning, and smiled at the crowd who cheered happily. Showing off would only drain his energy and let his guard down - Tyrion prayed to all the Gods that he would focus.

Oberyn turned from the crowd towards his opponent, still smiling broadly. "Have they told you who I am?" He asked.

"Some dead man." The Mountain roared, wasting no time in swinging his sword towards him. Oberyn did not miss a beat, matching his strokes. When their weapons seperated, Oberyn stepped back.

"I am the brother of Elia Martell. You know why I have come all this way to this stinking shit pile of a city?" He asked, his eyes never leaving Clegane's. "For you." He lunged forwards, striking the blade with his spear, and sliding backwards to continue talking. Tyrion wished he would shut his mouth and kill him, but Oberyn was intent on getting what he wanted out of the Mountain. "I've come to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick." The Mountain let out an almightly roar of rage from behind his helmet, and charged towards the Red Viper, raising his sword. Oberyn met each stroke with equal aggression, the sound of steel against steel ringing out around them. Suddenly, Oberyn span expertly round, knocking Clegane's helmet off. The crowd gasped, and Tyrion saw his sister's face contort into anger. No man had ever managed to remove any of the Mountain's armour, and Tyrion felt a little hope seep back into him. If Oberyn could remain focused and finish the job, perhaps there would be some chance for him yet.

"Say it." Oberyn asked his opponent again, only to be met with another angry roar and sword swinging down at him. Oberyn led him backwards, still dancing lightly on his feet. As their weapons met, Tyrion could hear him speak. "You murdered her. You killed her children." The battle skills Oberyn displayed were truly astounding, as he span in the air, leading the Mountain all over the floor. Such a large man being forced to move so quickly was a good tactic; surely he would tire and weaken soon. Oberyn stood a spear's length away from his enemy, and as the Mountain approached him, he repeated his accusations. "You raped her, you murdered her." The Mountain was getting angrier, the rage etched on his brutish features. Suddenly, the Mountain delivered a swift kick to Oberyn's chest, knocking him to the floor. Any hope disappeared like smoke in the wind.

However, Oberyn recovered himself quickly, getting back on his feet and not pausing as he continued his assault, spinning expertly towards him. The Mountain threw down his sword with all his might, and Oberyn's spear broke in two, the man himself falling to the floor once again. The Mountain swung his sword underneath him, but the Viper jumped up, spinning above it. He was thrown a new spear, and engaged in the fight once more. Sword against spear, the Mountain used his weight to throw Oberyn to the floor, and as he raised his sword to finish him, Oberyn thrust his spear upwards and found a vulnerability in his seemingly impenetrable armour. The blade went into his stomach, and the Mountain fell backwards, dazed.

"You raped her! Murdered her!" Oberyn screamed once again. The Mountain still continued to fight, and Oberyn leant down nimbly and sliced his leg, causing the Mountain to scream in pain. Kneeling on the floor, Oberyn charged up to him. "You killed her children!" He screamed, plunging his spear into his chest. The Mountain lay on the floor. Oberyn debated with himself - was a confession really so important, when he lay here almost dead? He plucked the blade out of his chest, and held it to his eye. "Confess before you die." The Mountain reached up to try and grab him, and Oberyn simply plunged the spear into his wrist, severing the artery.

"Confess!"

"I killed her." He growled. "I raped her. I murdered her children." He tried once more to grab Oberyn, and got him round the thigh with a crushing grip, trying to pull him down. He succeeded, but before he could act, Oberyn had moved the spear back to his face, and was hovering over him.

"Thank you." Oberyn replied, before raising the spear and shoving it with strength he didn't know he had into the Mountain's skull. The crowd roared, and Oberyn stood up in victory, looking down at the mutilated face of the man who had haunted him for nearly twenty years. He looked towards Tyrion, who was smiling broadly, and towards his love, who was crying tears of happiness. He had won. Tyrion was free.

Tywin Lannister stood up, a face like he had just eaten shit, and spoke.

"In the light of the Gods, Tyrion Lannister has won his trial by combat. Therefore, he is innocent of the murder of His Grace, Joffrey Baratheon, First of his Name, and is free." The crowd were silent, not sure how to react. Tyrion however ran out to the battleground, still in chains, and thanked his champion. Addressing the royal box, he spoke loudly and clearly.

"I Tyrion Lannister, was innocent of any charges brought against me. I am thankful the Gods recognized this fact." He contomplated saying more, but decided that his life wa sstill in danger, and another outburst like the one in court would do nothing to help him. "Could someone please take these chains off?" One of his gaolers did as he'd asked, and Tyrion gave a small wave to his sister, who looked as if she could rip him apart with her bare hands, and exited the arena with Oberyn and Ellaria.

Ellaria could barely keep her hands off her lover, and beamed happily. "I thought I had lost you." She spoke quietly.

"I told you I would not leave you alone in this world," Oberyn said, holding her close to him. "Did you take me for a liar, sweet one?" They laughed. "So, Tyrion. What will you do now you are a free man?"

"Get as far away from here as possible." He replied. "I may be a free man, but my sister will see me dead."

"Come with us to Dorne." Oberyn offered. "You have my hospitality. Your neiece talks of you often, I know she will be pleased to see you. There are many beautiful whores in Dorne, you could fall in love with any you wish. Good wine, sunshine, tolerance. No one would call you Imp in Sunspear." Tyrion thought about the offer.

"Would I be safe there? As a Lannnister?"

"You are my friend, under my hospitality. Come, we sail tonight. Leave this place behind. You are too clever for it."

"Dorne." Tyrion mulled it over. "Beautiful whores you say? I do believe I shall go to Dorne.

* * *

**A/N: Hello! Welcome to my new one shot series. Basically, any stories that are an alternate ending (normally happier) will go in here. This one was inspired by some fanart I saw by the realmcgee, which will be the cover art of this story. Any requests you have are very welcome. Next up should be: "What if Jon was made a Stark after Catelyn's promise to the Gods." I hope you enjoyed reading, this was the first story I've ever written battle scenes for. All dailogue is taken from the TV show, minus the end part (obviously..sob). Please review if you would like, and I'll see you in the next chapter! **


	2. Jon Stark

Catelyn stared down at the little babe in the cot, listening to his coos and happy little cries. He smiled up at her, and she gave him her little finger to hold in his tiny fist. A strangers eyes stared up at her, but for the first time, she saw past them and only saw the eyes of this little boy. All at once, she saw this little boy for what he really was - not a betrayal; only a baby. A mop of curly black hair, still matted from fever, almost reached his dark eyes, his cheek dimpled as he smiled, his feet kicked happily. So like her own son, but at once so different. She reached down into the cot and picked him up, resting him on her hip. He was almost two years old, growing bigger and stronger every day. Soon he'd be speaking, and she wondered what his first word would be. Certainly not "mama", as Robb's had been a few weeks earlier. She rubbed his back, still covered in raised marks from the pox that had almost killed him.

"Who's a good boy?" She cooed down at him, surprised at herself. "My brave, brave boy." The night had been difficult; hours of staring into the darkness, listening to his ragged breaths and watching the sweat pour off him. It was the afternoon now, and his recovery had been something miraculous. Heavens sent.

A knock on the door disturbed her, and she turned her head and called for them to come in. Ned stood at the door, smiling at the unexpected sight. Jon recognised him and called out in his baby voice. "Ba ba ba!"

"He's getting better then." He chuckled, walking over to his wife and bastard son. "It's good to see him smile again." He pinched Jon's cheek lightly, and the little boy reached up to grab his hair. Eddard chuckled deeply, pulling his hair out of his son's fist and brushing it away out of his grasp. He wrapped an arm around his wife, holding them both close to him.

"I was so sure he would die." Catelyn said quietly as she leaned into her husband, his bastard still embraced to her. "I did a terrible thing, Ned."

"I know," he said, sighing deeply. "I heard you last week saying your prayers. I didn't say anything because I understood your anger. Was this your prayer being answered and then denied?" He didn't sound angry, but his voice was low and soft. Believing in different Gods, Ned believed that only prayers to the Old Gods were answered, and doubted the power of these New ones.

"I don't know. I know that last night, in the very height of the darkness, I made a prayer wheel and begged the Gods to let him live." Ned listened carefully, not sure what to say. "I made a promise to the Gods." She said slowly. "I promised that if Jon lived, I would be a mother to him. I would have you write to Robert and ask that he be named Stark."

"And do you wish to keep this promise?" Ned asked cautiously. Catelyn looked down at the babe on her hip, now resting quietly against her chest playing with her Tully pin. Would it be such a bad thing to be this little boy's mother? To forget about his real mother, a woman who's name she didn't even know, and call him her own?

"Yes. Yes, I do. I can't forgive your betrayal, Ned, but I can't condemn him to life as a bastard. I'll be a mother to him." Ned broke out into a rare smile that reached his eyes, and kissed her deeply.

"I don't deserve you." He whispered into her lips.

"Perhaps not," she replied, smiling as tears rolled down her cheeks. "But he does."

* * *

"Mama, mama look!" Catelyn looked up from her sewing to see Jon walking on his hands along the floor, legs flailing wildly in the air. He was beaming happily, and she laughed.

"Very good!" Robb ran into the room and grabbed his brother's legs, pushing him to the floor and jumping on top of them, and they started wrestling.

"Boys!" They were both nearly four, and terrified of being told off. Her sharp tone alarmed them, and they stopped wrestling. "Go and play in the yard. I'm trying to rest." She was near her time with her second pregnancy, and had been confined to her bed with swollen ankles. The boys had been running in and out all week trying to entertain her, and it warmed her heart to know they both cared about her so much. That night two years ago seemed more like a lifetime in the past. It had not been easy forgetting all the hate she had felt since his birth, but by focusing on the child himself rather than his mother and what his father had done to her, Catelyn, she had come to feel a love for him that was just as fierce as the one she felt for her true son.

The royal decree declaring Jon a Stark had come quickly, and Ned was thankful Robert would grant him such a request, when other houses had been refused legitimacy for their bastards. Knowing Jon could now inherit lands when he died gave him comfort; the thought of his son destitute or abandoned after his death was one that he could not stomach. He had been lucky that Catelyn had come round, something that he doubted would ever happen when he first brought another woman's babe home with him from war.

Catelyn had not told Jon that she was not his true mother, but she saw the looks some of the servants gave him, and wondered how long it would be before someone called him "Bastard".

* * *

The day Catelyn had feared came when Jon was eight, nearly nine. He was a young nine year old, unsure in himself, while Robb brimmed with confidence. He ran into the castle from sword practice, his little face stained with tears. He ran into her in the hall way, blind to anyone else. She was with child again, still a little while to wait, and caught Jon before he knocked her over.

"Now, what's all this?" She asked him, bending down to brush the hair out of his eyes, kneeling at his height. "What's the matter?"

"T-they s-said I'm a..a..a.." he heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his whole body shook. Catelyn felt dread pool in her belly. She had been waiting for this day for years, and it had finally come. "T-they said I'm a bastard." He finally whispered, his shoulders still heaving as he shook.

"Come with me, my darling. We'll find your father." She stood up with some difficulty and took his hand in hers. "Come." They walked in silence, save for Jon's little sobs, to the main hall where Ned sat at the long table with Rodrik Cassel. They were engrossed in papers, and Catelyn coughed gently as she stood in front of them. Ned looked up, and saw his son's tear stained face. He looked to Catelyn, who nodded gently.

"Ser Rodrik, carry on without me." Ned commanded, knowing some things did not acquire his personal attention and could be handled by others. Jon, however, could not.

"Aye, m'lord." Ned got up from his seat and walked to his wife, taking Jon's other hand. They walked, once again in silence, to Ned and Catelyn's chamber. Sitting Jon down on the bed, Catelyn sat beside him while Ned stood at the fore.

"Jon, do you know what a bastard is?" Catelyn asked. The little boy nodded. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"A baby born to a highborn lord or lady that is not married to the mother or father." His voice was barely a whisper. Ned took a deep breath.

"When I was at war, I met a woman. We made you." Ned spoke, wary of being too graphic for the sakes of Jon and Catelyn both. "I was not married to her, I was married to Catelyn, your mama. I brought you home to Winterfell to be raised alongside Robb. Catelyn wanted to be a mother to you." He decided not to mention the two years she spent loathing him. "She is your mother, in all but blood. I wrote to King Robert and asked that you be allowed to be named Stark, not Snow. Do you understand?" Jon nodded. "You may have been a bastard once, but you are a Stark now. Just as much as me, as much as Robb, as much as Sansa and baby Arya."

"Where is my mother?" He asked, sniffling. "Why didn't she want me? Did she die?"

"Yes, son. She died giving birth to you. I'm sure she'd be very proud of you. Just as your mama and I are. Nothing has changed. Do you understand?"

"Yes." He nodded, still looking a bit wary.

"Who called you a bastard?" Catelyn asked gently, sure she already knew the answer.

"T-Theon." She was right; ever since the Greyjoy boy had arrived as a ward, she was suspicious of him. He was too loud, too rough and too inconsiderate of the feelings of others.

"I'll speak to Theon." Ned said firmly, and Catelyn nodded. "Right son, you calm down and then go back out and carry on training. I've got to return to the hall, we have much to do." He walked over to his son and ruffled his hair, and rested his hand on his pregnant wife's belly. "You, wife, get some rest." She nodded, smiling, watching as her husband left.

* * *

Jon grew strong, happy in his home with his family. Catelyn had almost forgotten she was not his mother; she found her love for him was no different to the love she felt for the children she had birthed. Jon had learned to fight, hunt and ride as well as any noble, and the circumstances of his birth had all but been forgotten by the people of Winterfell. Theon still lingered, and the two had never really gelled with each other, though both were close in their own ways to Robb. Jon was kind to everyone, a trait Catelyn admired, and accompanied his father and older brother on journeys around the North when Ned was needed elsewhere. He was turning into a handsome young man, and she had started to think about his future prospects. Robb was the Heir to Winterfell, but second born sons had no certain path. Ned wanted one son to join the Night's Watch at some point, as Starks had done for thousands of years, but Catelyn was cautious about condemning one of her sons, Jon included in this, to a life not knowing the joy of family and the love of a good woman.

* * *

"Come on Bran!" Robb and Jon stood watching as their younger brother took aim at the target, a stern look of determination on his face. He was ten, and aspired to be like his older brothers who were both skilled at archery. He pulled his arm back, and the arrow flew towards the target, missing it entirely. Jon and Robb laughed, infuriating him.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Their father's voice rang out from behind them, and they looked up guiltily. Eddard and Catelyn stood watching, a smile on her face, happy to see her children laughing and joking together. Bran steeled himself and reloaded his bow, stretching the string and ready to fire, as an arrow flew past him and hit the bullseye. Turning around, the three boys saw their sister Arya standing triumphantly, bow in hand. She did a graceful curtsey, pleased to see her brothers look so shocked at her skills. Bran dropped his bow and began to chase her, and she ran as fast as she could.

Rodrik Cassell was relucant to approach Lord Stark at such a care free family moment, but there was work to be done. Walking to Lord and Lady Stark, he announced his business.

"Lord Stark, we've captured a deserter from the Night's Watch." He announced, and Ned nodded in solemn understanding.

"Get the lads ready." Cassell nodded. "Tell Bran he's coming too." With one final nod, Rodrik walked away to prepare the men and horses.

"Ned, ten is too young to see such things." Catelyn wanted to hold her children close to her, shield them from the horrors of the world. Bran was still so innocent, and a beheading was the last thing she wanted him to see.

"He won't be a boy forever. And winter is coming." There was no point in arguing - even after all these years, the brutality of Northern life was something that still seemed wrong to her. Ned walked away, and she stared down at the courtyard. Jon was busy gathering up the arrows. He felt her gaze on him, and looked up and smiled.

"Everything alright, mother?" He called up, and she nodded.

"Your father's readying to deal with a deserter," she called down. "You're going with him." Jon nodded, placed the arrows back in their holder, and walked off to get ready.

Bran felt sick as he stared at the deserter, still dressed in black, babbled about the White Walkers. Watching Ice be brought down on his neck, Bran wondered if the man had been speaking the truth, or if it was just madness. As Ned walked towards his sons, he wondered if he had done the right thing bringing Bran to see this. Jon and Robb were a little older the first time they had seen their first execution.

Walking through the forest back to Winterfell, the party discovered the rotting corpse of a Stag, mutilated with such force that Ned wondered aloud what animal could do it. A few paces on, they discovered the culprit - a dead direwolf, an antler lodged firmly in it's throat. Ned had never seen his house's sigil in the flesh, and to see such a majestic creature lying dead in front of him saddened him.

"What's that?" Jon asked, hearing quiet little mews. Getting closer, he saw several tiny pups. Leaning to pick one up, he offered it to Bran. "Do you want to hold it?"

"They'll never survive this far South." Rodrik spoke.

"Aye, better a quick death." Ned said, as Theon agreed and pulled out his dagger and snatched the pub away from Bran.

"Put away your blade!" Robb demanded, and Theon scoffed.

"I take orders from your father, not you." He said with a sneer.

"Please father!" begged Bran, reaching out to the pup. Jon counted the puppies, looking around to make sure there were no more.

"I'm sorry Bran."

"Father, there are five pups, I don't mind not having one." He said. "The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them." Ned relented.

"You will feed them yourselves, you will train them yourselves, and if they die, you will bury them yourselves." They scooped up the remaing wolves and left the clearing. As they were leaving, Jon heard the cry of another pup - an albino. Theon turned, and laughed.

"The runt of the litter - that one's yours, Snow." Theon would never let Jon forget the circumstances of his birth, though everyone else had long forgotten. Jon tucked the pup into his cloak and ignored him.

* * *

A raven brought news from Kings Landing one Summer day, telling of the death of Jon's namesake, Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. Catelyn stood in the Godswood, scroll in hand, and told him the news; the King rode North with a royal entourage, and it was then Ned knew what he wanted.

"You can always say no, Ned." Ned shook his head; there was no way Robert would take no for an answer after riding all this way. "I want to come with you."

"You should stay with Robb. Rickon's too young to leave Winterfell anyway, I don't want him raised like a Southener. I'll take some of the children with me, then as Rickon grows and Robb is more comfortable as acting Lord of Winterfell, you can join me." he told Catelyn. "If Robert asks, that is. Why else would he ride so far North?"

"Take Jon with you." Catelyn said. "He needs to be somewhere with opportunities for him. Perhaps squiring for a Lord, or something. He'd make a fine commander, he's got a quick mind, he's fair, logical. Maybe he could marry a second daughter of a House in Kings Landing."

"Aye, I'll see what I can do for him." Ned promised, knowing how much Catelyn worried for all her children. "He'll be alright, you know." She nodded. "I'll take the girls as well." Catelyn smiled, though the thought of her daughters leaving her side and being thrust into the poisonous enviroment of Kings Landing scared her. Jon would watch over them as he always had, she knew, but Sansa was so easily impressed and Arya so wild, she couldn't help but worry they would find themselves in danger in that rat's nest.

* * *

When the King arrived at Winterfell, Jon stood between Robb and Sansa in the line waiting to greet the Royal party. The entire household, from Lord Stark to the blacksmith, were gathered in the courtyard of Winterfell, all kneeling with heads bent. When the King signaled for Eddard to rise, they all stood up, and Jon got a chance to see the man he had so often hear his father speak about with great fondness. Jon stared at the King as he hugged his father and mother. He had heard so much about King Robert as a fearless warrior from his father, he was astounded to see a fat old man before him. This was the man who had changed his life - turned him from a bastard into a true born son carrying his father's name, and Jon had much to thank him for.

"Who have we here? You must be Robb." The King stood closer to him now, and Jon could smell the stink of wine on him. Robb merely nodded, and shook his hand firmly. King Robert moved to speak to Jon, and met his gaze straight on.

"And you must be Jon." The King said, looking him up and down. "How old are you both? Seventeen?"

"Yes, your Grace." Robb replied - he was a few months older than Jon, taller too, with Tully red hair.

"Almost, your Grace." Jon answered after his brother, and the King nodded, moving on to speak to his siblings.

Shortly after, Robert and Ned spoke in the crypts - Robert proposing the union of Sansa and Joffrey. He had another proposal Ned wasn't expecting.

"Your son, the bastard." Ned stiffened. Robert laughed, seeing his face, and clapped him heavily on the back. "Sorry, former bastard. I'll have him as my new squire. Gods knows he'll be more use than the little Lannister shit Cersei's saddled me with."

"Thank you, your Grace. I'm sure Jon will be honoured. He's a good lad, he'll serve you well."

"As long as he knows how to pour wine and kill things, he'll do you proud."

* * *

**A/N: There is now a seperate story for this chapter, "Winter will turn into Spring", which can be found under my profile. I hope you enjoy it.  
**


End file.
